


Please, Just Kill Me

by Spineless



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Possession, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spineless/pseuds/Spineless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur is possessed by a brutal entity, it uses him to get to Merlin and beat him into submission. Merlin only cares about saving the Prince, but can he save him self?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“ _You––will––learn––to––respect––me––”_

Each word is punctuated by a blow to the torso. A strangled gasp escapes the manservant’s blue-tinted lips as he struggles to stay conscious. 

The Prince takes a few steps backward, arms held slightly away from his sides, fingers splayed. His eyes have taken on a bright gold, almost yellow colour that nearly seems to give off light. Merlin hadn’t noticed it when the Prince first asked to speak with him. Nothing seemed particularly out of place then, but then he had woken up in some sort of damp dungeon with his arms shackled above his head. 

 _Then_  Merlin noticed the light in his eyes.

A possession of some sort, he had initially thought. 

Well. Not  _initially._ His true initial thought was that the Prince had gone absolutely bonkers and decided to take it out on Merlin.

(Still a possibility.)

What appears to be a glass orb hovers a few inches off the ground in the centre of the room, directly behind the Prince. It glows with the same tint as his eyes, only brighter, on the whiter end of the spectrum. Merlin’s frazzled mind can’t make sense of it, and when he tries to focus his gaze upon the object, everything goes fuzzy (fuzzi _er_ , anyway).

Merlin’s head lolls against his chest, eyelids fluttering over his glassy eyes. 

“No you don’t,” the Prince hisses, grabbing Merlin and shaking him back to awareness. “No, I want you awake when I kill you.” His tongue flicks from between his teeth.

The young wizard blinks, staring out at his deranged––friend? prince? employer?––and speaks. 

“Why are you doing this, sire?” he asks, quiet but genuinely curious. 

Merlin’s gaze flicks to the artifact, which raised another inch or so higher, and then back to the Prince. 

“Why is killing your manservant your biggest concern?”

The Prince leans forward, putting his lips close to Merlin’s ear. “ _I know what you are_.” Voice not quite his, edged in something metallic. The wizard stiffened.

He swallows before speaking, determined to reach the Prince inside that empty husk. “Well, that’s very nice and good, sire, but you have combat training at half-three, and if you’re not there, it’ll be  _my_  head, I’m sure of it. But it’s much later than half-three, isn’t it? Did you really think no one would question your unannounced absence? Our, unannounced absences?”

The Prince steps back, a crease appearing on his brow. 

Merlin shakes his head. “Dear me, sire, dear me. Not your  _smartest_  move, if I may, but then again, rarely do you ever think––”

He finishes his sentence with a wheeze as fist comes into contact with unarmored  flesh. 

Sagging against the stone wall, Merlin can’t even double over to protect himself. “I suppose I deserved that…”

“You always have such  _snide_  remarks, you always need to have the last word in, don’t you? Feeling superior with your intellect, and whatnot, because you are inferior in every other way.” 

The Prince grabs Merlin’s face and forces him to look at him. “Where are your books now, Merlin? Where are your scrolls and words to save you?” 

Merlin dips his head. “I’ll always have my words, sire.”

He feels every blow.

He doesn’t recall the Prince every being quite this strong, but perhaps whatever is possessing him is projecting its strength to the king. 

“Taking the ‘brute strength’ approach, huh?” Merlin spits a bit of blood onto his shirt.

“I should have chained you to the floor,” the Prince answers. He digs his heel into the side of Merlin’s knee, prompting a strangled cry. “It would be easier to kick you.” 

He lets his manservant hang and turns his back, kneeling before the orb.

Merlin musters up what ever strength he has left to hold his head up. “Kill me.” Blood drips from his nose into his mouth, but he doesn’t spit it back out. It leaks from the corner of his lips. “Please, Arthur.” 

The Prince turns, light in his eyes glowing brighter, brighter. 

“I don’t ask for much from you. Just do this. End it now.” 

The Prince approaches, boots echoing in the enclosed room. He tenderly holds Merlin’s face in his hands, brushing his blood-caked hair from his forehead and traces a line lightly on his skin with his fingertip. 

Like a stylus, he draws a thin gash, a wound that cries blood in the way Merlin refuses to cry tears. 

“Kill you?” he asks. “Why on  _earth_  would I want to do that, Merlin? I don’t want to kill you. I can’t use you if I do that. You’re no good to me dead.”

He continues on as if the Prince hadn’t spoken. “I know you’re in there somewhere, Arthur. Please, if you can hear me, just kill me.”

The Prince presses down on his chest. “Do you so easily cave? This is _nothing_ , Merlin. When I am through with you, you will  _beg_  me to kill you. You will welcome death like an old friend but even then, I will deny you what you crave.”

Darkness is creeping over Merlin, smothering him slowly, like a blanket. He no longer wishes to fight, to fight the Prince, to fight the entity holding him that will surely take over Merlin, and use what magic he has to grow powerful. 

The entity would most likely dispose of the Prince when it was through with him. 

This is what drives Merlin to fight back the fog. 

“Kill me, Arthur.” He feels the thing feeding off him already. If he can sever it soon, perhaps it will be relinquish its grasp on the Prince. 

“Arthur’s gone, Merlin. And soon, you will be, too.”

“Kill me.”

“No.”

“Kill me.”

“ _No._ ” What used to be the Prince grinds its fist into Merlin’s ribcage. Again. And again.  “I want to feel you shatter under my fingers first.”

Something in Merlin breaks.

Something in his mind. Something in his throat. Something(s) in his torso. Splinters.

A scream rips itself from his very being, from the foundations of his person. He screams and screams and screams. 

The prince leaps back like he was scorched. He bumps into the still-rising glass orb, knocking it to the ground, where it breaks into a million pieces. A blinding light illuminates the dungeon. The Prince arches his back, mouth open, eyes open, and the golden light spills from him. The chains holding Merlin up turn to dust and he slams into the ground.

The Prince collapses.

He lies in limbo as the entity scatters and he reawakens shortly, coming to with a gasp, eye flying back open. 

He looks around wildly, gaze finally settling on the body against the wall. No. _No._

“ _Merlin!_ ”

As he stumbles to his fallen servant––friend––Arthur only remembers snippets. But that body is very real.

“Wake up.” He cradles Merlin’s head in his lap. “Wake up. Wakeupwakeupwake _up_.” 

“Kill me.” A garbled noise from the fallen sorcerer. 

“Wh…what?”

Two blue eyes lazily open. Arthur chokes. 

Merlin blinks. “Arthur?“ 

“I’m here, I’m here, stay with me, you daft––sodding––”

“Kill me.” 

Arthur freezes. “Merlin?” 

“Kill me, sire. Please. Please just kill me.“ 

It’s the prince’s turn to scream. And he does. He screams and yells until his voice cracks and half the castle comes running (they were already halfway there). And each scream is punctuated by the small “kill me” of a broken servant.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's wrong with Merlin. He is broken, in more ways than one.

The Prince is inconsolable. 

 

He trips over his words as he tries to half-break into Gaius's chambers to see his servant, but the physician has barred the door against him. Arthur is under house arrest in his room, but he can't keep still. His fingers tremble and he knocks over stools and books from tables, becoming as clumsy as his manservant. He needs to leave. He needs to move. He needs to see Merlin.

 

"You need to _calm down_." It's Gwen. Her tone is firm and eyes focused, but they betray just a touch of fear. 

 

She comes into his quarters without knocking, carrying a bucket of water, a clean cloth, and various other medicinal supplies. She forces him to sit on the edge of the bed, perching beside him, her arm on his shoulder in an effort to calm him down. 

 

"Sire. Please."

 

He doesn't say anything, just holds his head in his hands.

 

"Once Gaius is finished with Merlin, he and the King are coming up here––just to ask you some questions, alright?"

 

"No, _no!_ " He tugged at his hair. "I don't––I can't–– _remember_ , anything, at all. Merlin––"

 

"Arthur, get a hold of yourself!" Gwen snaps. 

 

The Prince looks up, taken aback by her outburst.

 

"Apologies, sire, but making yourself ill over Merlin is not going to help him, it is not going to help Gaius, and it certainly isn't helping yourself. You're in shock. Please, just breathe."

 

Arthur takes in a couple of slow, shaky breaths. 

 

"That's it," Gwen says, rubbing his shoulder in encouragement. "Now, look at me."

 

There's a shallow cut on his forehead from when Arthur collapsed on the dungeon floor. Gwen, although she is not a physician, gently cleans away the dried blood from the wound. It's nothing but a scratch, already scabbed over.

 

"Thank you, Guinevere," Arthur finally manages. 

 

The two sit together in a reluctant silence. Gwen wrings the bloodied cloth in her hands, flicking nervous glances at Arthur. He's still pale, eyes unfocused and he looks a million miles away. Worry gnaws at her insides, worry for both her boys.

 

No one had seen Arthur or Merlin for hours. The last sight of them from a passing servant was Arthur tugging on Merlin, dragging him towards the castle. And that was it. For hours. 

Usually no one would pay attention to their joint absence, but this was too abrupt, something not quite right about. The King was annoyed, but not overly concerned. Gaius had convinced Uther to spare a few men, just to search the castle and grounds. 

They were about to descend into the dungeons when they heard the screams––two of them.

 

Then, there were just rumours. Gwen heard that they found Arthur in a puddle of blood, screaming his head off while holding a lifeless Merlin in his arms––and something about a dagger? But she figured––hoped––that most of it was just gossip. 

 

She went to see Gaius shortly after hearing about it, just to see if she could help, but he wouldn't open the door wide enough for her to see Merlin. He just passed her a bit of supplies and asked her to go keep an eye on Arthur. 

 

A knock at the door jerks Gwen out of her reverie. "Come in," Arthur says in a hollow voice. 

 

It's Uther and Gaius, flanked by two guards. Gwen gathers her skirts and excuses herself, trying to catch Gaius's eye. He wont look at her. Her heart sinks. She bows slightly, then leaves. The four step just inside the room. 

 

He half rises from the bed. "Is Merlin going to be alr––"

 

"Tell us what happened first, Arthur." Uther doesn't angry. His words are carefully controlled and enunciated deliberately. 

 

The Prince falters slightly, sitting back down. "I don't remember much," he admits.

 

A thin smile appears on the kings lips. "Humor me."

 

 _Breathe._ Arthur clears his throat. "I, ah, was going for a walk, around the grounds. And I saw this...this _orb_ , in the bushes. So I went over to it, and it _flew_ at me, but it––it passed through, into me. It gave off a gold light." He stares at his callused palms. "I can't, there's––"

 

"Try, Arthur," Gaius prompts. "Try to remember."

 

Arthur furrows his brow, glaring at the stone floor. _Can't they see I'm trying?_ "I remember finding Merlin somewhere near the castle, through this," his frown deepens. "this golden haze. I couldn't control anything. And." 

 

And.

 

(Flashes. Bits and pieces. A film over his eyes.)

 

"And I'm leading him into the dungeons. He's...unconscious. And."

 

And.

 

His arm rears back.

 

No.

 

He's hitting Merlin.

 

No.

 

He's hitting Merlin.

 

Over and over, he sees himself through the golden haze beat the black-haired boy. Blood trickling from his lips. He gasps, " _Kill me."_

__

Arthur's breathing quickens. "I I beat him," he chokes out. "I hit him. Over. And over. Oh, god." He buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. "He begged me to kill him."

 

"Arthur." It's Gaius, voice gentle. "What about the orb?"

 

The Prince looks up. "It was the source, or what not, of the entity, I reckon. Powerful. Magic. It, ah, broke."

 

"Broke?"

 

"Yeah. Shattered. Relinquished it's grasp––god. God." He looks up at Gaius. "Is Merlin going to be alright?" Please say yes. Please say he will make a full recovery. Please say that he is in fact already awake and complaining. Please. Please Gaius.

 

Gaius exchanges glances with Uther. The King looks visibly disturbed at the prospect of his son being possessed by some magical being and just shakes his head.

 

"He's touch-and-go at the moment, Arthur." The old man looks at him, eyes heavy with grief. 

 

"Please––Please, could I see him?" There is begging in his voice. 

 

"I don't think that's such a good idea––" 

 

" _Please_."

 

~~~~~~

 

Gaius doesn't like the idea. Not one bit. Merlin needs rest. He needs to heal. But he can't find it in himself to say no to the crowned prince, especially not with _that_ look on his face.

 

So, he begrudgingly leads him to the physicians chambers, almost knocking over Gwen on the way. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to. Shaking his head, the three of them make their way.

 

Gaius enters first. The room is lit in a dim, orange glow from the fire and a few scattered candles. 

 

On the bed is a body masquerading as Merlin. Bruises blossom on his face. Arthur feels sick.

 

A thick bandage wraps itself around the warlock's head, a red spot already soaking through. Gaius clucks his tongue at that injury in particular. The gash refuses to scab over, still bleeding. Gaius figures it was caused by magic. He'd have to look up a spell to close it later, once the party had left. 

 

A thick blanket is pulled up to Merlin's chin, covering his chest that's wrapped with many layers of bandages. He had broken more than a few ribs, but surprisingly there hadn't been any ruptured organs. Gaius couldn't explain it. Merlin should be dead.

 

His arms fall over the blanket, wrists wrapped halfway up his forearms, bruised and bloody from where the shackles had cut into flesh. His shoulders would ache for days. 

 

The Prince stands two feet from Merlin's bed, just staring down at the body before him. He's shaking his head, incredulous. Gwen covers her mouth, standing by the fireplace. She looks away.

 

"I've given him something to keep him asleep as he heals," Gaius explains. "I haven't any painkillers strong enough. Sleep is the best medicine, at this point, anyway." He lays a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "This is not your fault, you know. I've heard of those entities. They're incredibly, incredibly powerful. There was nothing you could have done."

 

"Thank you, Gaius," he answers quietly. He thinks, it was still my hands that did this. He kneels beside his friend, not touching him, afraid any brush of skin would further break his body. 

 

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he whispers just loud enough for the unconscious wizard to hear. 

 

Then, the impossible:

 

His eyes open. 

 

Gaius gasps, taking a few steps forward. "It can't be––it's not––"

 

Glazed over disks of blue stare back at the young Prince. His breath hitches. "Merlin?"

 

A tired smile. Lips flutter. Arthur leans closer to hear. "What is it, friend?"

 

"I'm glad you're here, sire. Does this mean you've come to kill me?"

 

Arthur leans back on his heel, staring at Merlin in pure, unadulterated terror. He gapes. "––?"

 

Merlin, still smiling, raises a hand to the Prince's cheek. He lightly brushes his thumb over his cheekbone, fingers falling until they find themselves wrapped around Arthur's neck.

 

"You should have killed me when you had the chance."

 

**A/N: To be continued! Thank you so much for the feedback, reviews are always appreciated :D**


	3. Chapter 3

This is the moment that Arthur believes he is going to die.

He had fought monsters only heard of in legends, tortured spirits, evil sorcerers, bandits; he had faced poison and famine and plague. Plenty of times, he had reserved and accepted the fact that he was going to die. That he would not be king, let alone see the light of another day. He had not been afraid. It was his destiny to protect Camelot and by the gods, he would.

But this was different. This was not hand-to-hand combat or throwing a sword at a beast. He was completely helpless as he was being throttled by his manservant. By Merlin. Merlin, the lanky, grinning dollop head that had saved his life more times than Arthur could count. Arthur liked to think that Merlin only got in the way in battles, but their odds were always better when they were together. When Arthur looks into Merlin's hollow eyes rimmed with gold, he only feels fear.

His fingernails tear at the pale hand around his throat, but to no avail. He's gasping, struggling, and the commotion around him sounds far away. Darkness bleeds at the edge of his vision.

"You should have killed me.

You should have killed me, sire.

You never do listen.

Why didn't you kill me?"

And Merlin is crying, silent tears running down his face as blood trickles down his wrist. He is paralyzed, unable to relinquish the Prince. His mind is also clouded over but with magic instead of oxygen deprivation.

In his last moments of consciousness, Arthur manages to wheeze out, "I'm sorry." His eyes slide closed but even then Merlin doesn't let go.

Until something strikes at the barrier of his mind.

He gasps, feeling the blow physically as well as mentally. Magic. Gaius.

Another hit. His hand unlocks with the force of it, Arthur falling to the floor.

Merlin sees the sorcerer at the foot of the bed, right hand outstretched, something glittering in his left. An amulet, it appears. Like a magnetic pull, Merlin is attracted to it––or, the thing inside him is. It wrenches him forward and he feels as if every fiber in his body is splitting itself in two.

"Fight it, Merlin!"

Fight what, dear Gaius, fight what? How can we fight that which is a part of us? As it is, we can only fend off urges and ideas for so long.

Something in Merlin takes control and turns his head sharply to the side, where he sees Arthur motionless on the floor.

A driving force. One little push, that's all any of us need, really.

He turns inside himself.

Get out of here.

A snarl. Magic thrashing upon magic.

Is that intended to frighten me? Do you know who I am? Do you really know who you're dealing with here?

«*Of course We know who you are, Merlin, We have searched far and wide for you.*»

We? Oh, gods, there's more than one of you?

«*We are many, Merlin. You will join Us as well, whether you choose to or not.*»

You know, I'm getting really sick and tired of people trying to control me. Ever since I stepped onto this world, everyone has tried to dictate what I do. Destiny, and all that. But you know what? It's really irritating.

«*You have no choice.*»

Alright, you lot, I dunno who you are, who you think you are, but please––

His back arches off the bed, limbs twisting inward. Merlin's mouth and eyes are open, golden light pouring from every seam.

bugger––

Gaius's chanting quickens. He has to shield his eyes.

off!

Blinding light fills the room. It leaves Merlin, fleeing to whatever it is Gaius holds. And then, suddenly, it all is cut off. Merlin lay still on the bed, eyes open, the gold glint of magic leaving them them. His insides are so hollow he feels as if he's going to collapse in on himself. But he flings out a hand, the one wracked with shallow cuts, and utters a string of words.

The frozen prince on the stone floor beside him comes to with a haggard gasp and Merlin, satisfied, lets his hand fall limp.

"What happened?" Arthur manages to get out, wincing at the hoarse sound of his own voice. He recalls Merlin choking him, and a golden light, then...nothing. He looks to Gaius who has moved to Merlin's side, some sort of talisman in his grasp. "Gaius?"

The physician answers in a quiet voice. "Whatever it was that possessed Merlin has been vanquished now."

"And?" Arthur stumbles to his feet, still a bit lightheaded. He feels hell of a lot better than he expected, almost dying and all. "Where's...where's Gwen?"

"Sent her for help."

"Gaius? Is there something wrong? What about Merlin, is he––"

The old man finally raises his gaze to meet the Prince's. There is an eternity of sadness in them, Arthur can't understand how such emotion could be held in two little spaces on a person's face. He physically takes a step back. But no, he wouldn't believe. Merlin couldn't be––he wouldn't––

And suddenly, he's there by the bed, shaking his manservant, his friend, his ally, awake, hands gripping the sides of his face, feeling the divots in his cheeks as he stared into his open, unseeing eyes. "Don't you do this to me, Merlin!" his voice cracks. He wasn't doing this again. He wasn't going through the peril of loss, not again, not twice in so many short hours. "Merlin? Merlin?" He rounds on the old man. "What's wrong with him, Gaius?"

"He made it so the thing couldn't feed off him any longer. But the process of purging himself must have overwhelmed his already damaged system. I'm so sorry, Arthur." He moves to put a hand on the Prince's shoulder, but is pushed away.

"You can't do this to me, Merlin, you can't just leave. I didn't permit this. I am your prince!" he bellows. "You will obey me!" As if ordering him to breathe would work. As if his princely command extended into the spirit world.

Arthur drops to his knees, unable to stand. "I'll put you in the stocks for a month. I'll sack you, Merlin, I'm serious. I'll find a competent servant this time, one who knows his damn place and won't go getting himself ki––" His breath hitches and he buries his face in his hands.

Gaius, limbs and heart and head heavy with grief, goes to pull a clean sheet over the body of his deceased ward.

He freezes suddenly when the corpse utters a word. "Prat."

Arthur looks up to see Merlin's head turned toward him, very much alive.

"You really are a royal prat." He says it very matter-of-factly. "'I am your prince'? 'You will obey me'? Gods alive, sire, you can't just go about ordering people back to life. It's not right. Disrupts the natural order of things."

"I think I just did, you clot." Arthur's shaking his head, trying to discreetly wipe away tears that cling to his eyelashes. It's not working all too well.

Merlin shakes his head back at him. "Yeah, well, don't expect it to work again." He closes his eyes. It's all so natural, like some magic entity didn't just threaten his entire being. Not just Merlin's, too, but Arthur and Gaius and Gwen and everything friend or person Merlin had ever touched would have grieved. Death doesn't just affect the deceased. "Wait!" Arthur shouts.

Merlin opens his eyes again. "Yes, sire?" He's slightly out of breath.

"Don't––"

Merlin inwardly sighs. "I'm not going to die if I close my eyes, sire. I'm tired. Would you be so gracious as to give me permission to sleep?"

Arthur blinks, opens his mouth, and closes it. He nods.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes Merlin a while to cope and recover.

Clouds are spread in a thin, faintly grey layer across the entirety of the sky. Sunlight occasionally filters through minor gaps. It gives the affect of divine outreach, paintings of winged figures cast to earth in a halo of gold. But then, with a gust of wind, the clouds would quickly gather once more.

The weather can't make up it's damn mind. Some days, the clouds clear and leave infinite blue sky, but other days, rain pelts the land in sheets, drenching everything. Then, there would be the in between days, like today. The light scent of potential rain addressed the air, but it did not hold the promise of a storm.

Today marks the seventeenth day that Merlin has spent asleep.

He currently lies on a bed in the corner of the chambers of the court physician, Gaius, who is out running errands at the moment. The hearth is unlit, a few candles and an open window the only sources of light. Merlin is not alone, however; he hasn't been alone in seventeen days. Sometimes it's Gaius, other times it's Gwen. But more often than not, it's prince Arthur that sits on the three-legged stool. He doesn't perch there as often as he would like, being the prince comes with its obligations.

Arthur stares at his hands, absentmindedly picking at his dirt-encrusted callouses. The King had been angry with him at first, impatient that he was so terribly distraught at the illness of a mere servant. He refused to let his son sulk, and sent him off on a hunting trip not five days ago.

It had troubled Arthur to be away from his friend for such an extended amount of time. He thought something would happen whilst he was in the forest––that Merlin would awaken, or, that he wouldn't.

Gaius hadn't provided an explanation for Merlin's coma. He conjured up the idea that being possessed had exhausted him, physically and mentally, in addition to his injuries, and his body reacted with the only way it knew how: to sleep.

"You can wake up now, you know."

Merlin didn't respond (Arthur didn't expect him to).

His chest continued to steadily rise and fall. The look on his face was not one of pain or peace, it was completely void of all emotion. Eyelids relaxed, mouth at a slight frown. No creases. Arthur didn't even know if he was dreaming or not.

"I'd  _like_  to order you to wake up, bit I dunno if it would work. Probably not."

At first, Arthur felt downright silly talking to his manservant's unconscious form. However, even if Merlin couldn't hear, it helped Arthur himself cope.

"It was quite a different experience going hunting with out you mucking about. Falling over and getting in the way, and sorts." He cleared his throat. "We actually got a decent hall. And it didn't rain much, either. It's been dreadfully gray the past week or so."

The whole time he talks, Arthur doesn't look at Merlin's sharply pale face. He looks at his hands, the cobwebs in the corners, the books bound in cracking leather on the crooked table.

"I really wish you'd wake up. The replacement manservant they've assigned me––well, he's as interesting as a damp log. Sure, he's  _adequate,_ but I'd rather have you stumbling about. At least you make things interesting." He almost smirked at that. He changed his mind halfway through and grimaced instead.

"I, er, better be off."

He starts to rise off the uncomfortable stool and looks up. A pair of crystalline blue eyes peer at him from under the many layers of blankets. Arthur freezes, not sure what to do. His own eyes widen. "Merlin?"

" _Prat_." The word comes out in a rasp so low, Arthur can't understand it at first. But realization crosses his face and he lets out a choked breath of relief. Merlin is awake. Merlin is not going to die.

He speaks again, lips barely moving, uttering something that sounds a bit like " _wtr_ ".

Arthur clatters around the room, filling a cup with lukewarm water. He brings it back to Merlin and helps him drink it, lifting the back of his head up slightly, holding the cup to his lips. Water spills out the corner of his mouth and Merlin sputters. Arthur recoils sharply. He offers water more slowly after Merlin stops his coughing, allowing him a few more small sips.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asks, cautiously settling into the stool again. He steals a glance at the door, wondering where Gaius is.

"Like. Like I got. Trampled. By a beast." Merlin's voice is hoarse from disuse.

The prince allows himself a slight chuckle. "Yeah, I would think so."

"How-long've-I-been––?"

"––Asleep? Seven––"

Merlin begins to relax.

"––teen. Seventeen. Days. You've been asleep for seventeen days."

Blue eyes widen. Absolutely mortified. No way.

Arthur nods grimly. "Dunno what we would've done if you had slept for seventeen more. Dunno what  _I_ would've done." Runs a filthy hand through his hair. Draws the stool closer. Arthur's fingers go subconsciously to his neck, still lightly discolored by bruises.

The silence only lasts a minute or two, but it feels drawn out. Merlin's eyes remain half-open, watching Arthur curiously. He's never seen the prince so out of sorts; it's not befitting.

He withdraws his arm from the many layers of blankets, raising it as if to caress Arthur's face. He only gets halfway there, though, before it drops through the air, landing back on the coverlet. No energy. It's been over two weeks since he's been functioning. There's nothing left but an empty husk.

The sound of hinges squeaking, a door shutting, shuffling footsteps. Pause. "Sire?"

Gaius, at last.

Arthur turns. "He's awake, Gaius."

* * *

Merlin is refusing visitors.

It's been five days since he woke up.

" _Don't let them in, Gaius!_ " He retreats under blankets when fists come pounding on doors.

" _Merlin? Gaius? Let us in!_ "

Not even Gwen is permitted inside. Arthur is furious, but there's nothing he can do, short of breaking down the door.

"You'll have to face them eventually, Merlin." Gaius is gentle, voice level as he mixes something in a porcelain bowl.

"No. No. Absolutely not."

He's pressed up against the wall, blanket draped around his shoulders. He's trembling. There's something wrong with his eyes, like they've changed color. Or radiance. Yes, that's it, they've lost their sparkle. "I'm never coming out of here, Gaius. I'd rather die."

" _Merlin_."

"No, I mean it!"

Merlin's lost something.

Well, not a  _thing_ , really. And not a thing that can be replaced, either.

"You haven't lost your magic, Merlin. It's still there––"

"Then why can't I  _do_  anything, Gaius?" He's close to tears, sweat beading at his forehead. He's thin, terribly thin, whatever food he choses to consume coming right back up. His injuries aren't healing as fast as they should. The old physician feels his heart breaking for his beloved ward. "I used to be able to use it without even thinking, now––. It's  _gone_. I'm useless. I can't continue on like this––" He scrabbles at the window, which Gaius had taken liberties of locking.

" _Merlin!_ " he roars, and Merlin freezes immediately.

"Merlin." Gaius continues at a reasonable volume. "You suffered a  _brutal_  magical and physical attack. You can't just expect to bounce back like it was nothing. Now please, right yourself; I don't need you breaking anymore ribs."

Merlin sinks back onto the bed.

"You'll get your magic back in due time, I assure you. We need to be patient, and you need time to heal and regain your strength. Now, drink this."

* * *

It takes Merlin a month to recuperate.

A month.

A month, to coax food into an unwilling stomach. A month, for the worst of his injuries to heal. A month, until the magic comes back. Little by little, he works everyday. And then, after a solid month, he stand on his own, still a bit pale, still a bit too thin, but he's growing restless. Gaius wishes he'd allow himself more time, but it's been a month since Merlin has seen Arthur. By choice, of course. He hoped the prince would understand.

On his first day back, Merlin is already thrown out of balance. He comes into Arthur's room, heart pounding, balancing a plate in his hands. But the prince is already awake, perched on the edge of his bed, his back to the door. Merlin falters. "Good morning, sire."

Arthur turns slightly, part of his profile illuminated. "A 'good morning', hmm? Who decides if it's a good morning, hmm? You?"

"'Spose so, sire."

"What makes it so good, then."

Merlin blinks. "Well, being awake, for once thing." He places the play on the table and cautiously approaches the prince. He almost retreats.

There's  _pain_  in his eyes.

"Sire?"

"You slept for seventeen  _damn_  days. And then, Gaius said I couldn't see you. For a goddamned _month_ , Merlin." His head shakes lightly. "Why?"

Merlin swallows, throat tight. "I couldn't have you see me like that, Arthur. So––so––"

"So  _what––?"_

" _Weak!"_

Silence.

Merlin turns awake. "I couldn't do it, sire. I couldn't have you regard me when I was in such a state. I needed to protect what little dignity I have left."

"Damn it, Merlin, you could have at least  _said_  that."

A touch of confusion. He turns round again.

"Did you really think I would be repulsed by you?"

"It was a matter of self-worth, sire. I didn't––I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"I thought you hated me."

"Why would I hate you?"

"How––How am I supposed to know that? I would come to visit and you would just  _scream_ , Merlin, such terrible things. And don't think I didn't eavesdrop."

Merlin's blood turns to ice. "I––"

"'Kill me, Gaius, just kill me? I'm useless?' I  _heard_  you, Merlin."

Silence.

"What do you want me to say, Arthur."

"I don't  _know!_ I can't––I can't be  _angry_  at you, can I? It's my fault you were put in such a state in the first place––"

"You were  _possessed––_ "

"That doesn't mean I can't feel guilty, Merlin."

"Yeah? Well, what about me? I damn near  _killed_ you!"

More silence. Merlin continues.

"Can we just––not blame each other, or ourselves for any longer? It was neither of our faults, can we agree on that, please?"

A shrug. "Fine."

"I'm sorry I shunned you out, Arthur."

"Just––Dont forget. You're valuable to me, alright? Despite being a total, utter, daft,  _clot_."

"Prat!"

"Dollop head!"

"Sir Pratiness, of the dollop kingdom!"

"That didn't even make any sense!"

A grin.

How sweet it is to be awake.

 


End file.
